This Love
by IDTARDIS
Summary: Series of one shots, they are not necessarily in order so leave your timelines at home. A bit of Johnlock in them but not explicit mostly one sided. Hope you like.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine, a girl can only wish…_

_**This Love…**_

_**Who are we to be emotional? Who are you to make me feel so good? This love is be and end all…**_

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><p>He knew it was wrong, there was no other possibility, it was wrong it had to be, and yet it felt so good. A blanket of security, his brother had said mocking him, and yes, it was. For the first time he had find one, he had find his personal blanket, the one they had taken away when father had consider he was old enough not to be carrying a stupid blanket along, to human eyes two years old. He had cried that night probably the first and the last time he had done it, but father was unmovable he did not gave it back. His brother had woken up by the cries and tried to console him without result. Since then he had tried to become his blanket, trying to protect him from almost everything possible, starting a game that neither one of them seem in a hurry to win. His brother would try to gain territory on his hearth by protecting him and he would push him out by running away and burying himself in drugs.<p>

The so-call blanket had entered his life, when he had last expected, when he was in more need of it. At first the so casual way they had meet had raised his suspicions, maybe it was an agent of his brother, it would not have been the first time there have been many since boarding school and all the way to Uni, the so-call good friends until he found out they were working for Mycroft to control his every movement. The meeting had been through a mutual friend, so mutual that Sherlock had only talk to him maybe twice and all the time they knew each other. He had appeared in search of lodgings too, fitting so well in with his plans for independence. The first time he saw him he knew it would be a pity if he were working for Mycroft, he knew it would break his heart if he did. Days had pass, events had happen, they had become friends such a silly word with such a deep meaning, he had become use to waking up and find him around watching telly,; yelling at him because of the mess, only to finally give up and start picking up. He had become used to having someone listening even when pretending to be mad at something he had forgot or done or both. And then she entered the scene…

Sarah her name was, it had been the only actual word he had heard coming out of John's mouth on the whole conversation. Sarah, such a common name and yet it found a way to freeze Sherlock's brains in less than a second. The relation had develop faster than he had wished; one night they had gone in a date and the next one, she would not leave their flat. It was not as if he did not know what John stand for, but maybe just maybe he had hope for at least more time but it was too much to ask for, they had an argument, John left the flat furious. He waited for him to turn back after watching him strode out of the flat. He waited with an apology on his mouth, but John did not turn back, and Sherlock wished for the second time he could control minds and make him come back. Why did she have to win? The explosion had happen, almost on his face and he had woken up to a panicked Miss Hudson who had already called his brother. His first tough was to John. Who was he kidding John did not care; he was probably now sleeping comfortably with her next to his side. His blanket had been taken all over again.

Morning happen and his only regret had been not being able to change the way his brother handle the events with the news, such a sensationalist manner, at least he got what he was lodging for. John had entered the room with concern written all over his face follow by guilt. Sherlock decided to play it cool acting as if his heartbeat was raising at the solo thought of John caring for him and even more at the fact that he had slept on the sofa and not on her bed.

"I can't." –The surprising dialogue between brothers did not affect John anymore, he was now used to this to endless conversations.

"Can't?" –The real question that John was late to hear had been "Why don't you just come up and say it? Tell him how you feel." Oblivious John thought they were talking about a case, and Mycroft could only think on the many ways to making feel sorry for what he had done to his little brother.

"The stuff I got on is just too big I cannot spare the time." –Who could blame him, you do not get hurt more than once only not to learn something, plus it was wrong in so many ways.

_**This love will be your downfall. **_

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ I am sorry is nonbeta, and all I can say in my defense is that I am huge fan of the books read them all, and yet I still find it fascinating every time I read it them again._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: _Not mine._

_**One Eye Open**_

_Well, her pretty little face stopped me in my tracks, but now she sleeps with one eye open. That's the price she paid._

_I said, hey, girl with one eye, Get your filthy fingers out of my pie._

_I said, hey, girl with one eye. I will cut your little heart out cause you made me cry…_

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><p>Is not that he hated woman in general; he hated that woman the treat she represented. Since he was a little kid he had learn to appreciate people by their abilities not by their looks, as an example he his mother, what kid does not love his mother, but he respected her for her abilities not just for being his mother. He had seen her at work with just one look, she could make his father change his mind and yet still believe it was his own idea. If it were for his father, they would be now poor living on a farm, but her had taken the reins of the family, working from the shadows much like Mycroft does now. To him women were sneaky having growing with one of the best ones at work. Sarah was intelligent; he would never doubt that, she had to be in order to get John. She was pretty in a womanly way, but above all, she was sneaky much like his mother, he could see it now she working on the shadows making John settle down and raising a family, and John, his John needed, craved adventure the one that only Sherlock could give him.<p>

However, his John much like his father was an oblivious men, the one that does not sees when others are choosing for him. Don't get me wrong, he was not an idiot like Sherlock had stated on their first meetings, just one that did like to fight much in order to get his point across, if the situation were good enough he would settle even when his ambitions were different. During John's date was not as if he had planned everything to go as bad as it had been, however he was not going to relinquish his John to her so easily, it had taken years to find him, and many hurtful experiences with both women and men. There was Sebastian as a kin example, after all these years and the way he had hurt Sherlock he dared ask for his help, only to try to mock him in front of John. However, he had hoped the experience had frightened her enough to run for the hills and leave his John alone, only to be wrong again. She had turn out to be more powerful than what he had expected, and the whole experience had only work to her favor making her a victim on the eyes of John.

With exasperation Sherlock had had to wait for him to come home after she was released from the hospital, it was not as if she had a serious injure just frighten and yet he had stood there by her side. Sherlock new at one point John would end up having to chose between him and a more easy life, and to be truthful who in his right mind would chose Sherlock. John had come back to a bored and furious Sherlock who had no words to explain how he really felt about her and John, one that new that if he came out and told John the truth it would mean the end. John being the oblivious one, had taken his concern as arrogance, his jealousy as petulance, his fears as mere disregard for others well being. The fight had escalated with John having a lot to say more than he had really cared to share. At some point, the words "you have no heart" had come out of his mouth and only to late, he had taken notice that Sherlock not only was staring at him with disbelief but also a deep blush was covering his face. Turning around the detective had left the room, without saying a word in retaliation; the only noise that had followed him had been the closing of hid door.

He lay on his bed unable to fall sleep, while angry tears threaten to come out, she had to give him back, she just had to. He was not ready to give up not now, he need it more time with him, more time to assimilate that it was wrong, that John did not wanted Sherlock or whatever his life style represented. Oh yeah, he hated her and all the security she represented, and yet in order to win more time with John he was willing to try and at least pretend she did not exist.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> _I really hope you guys enjoyed, sorry if it seems like a cliffhanger_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**_**:**__ As always not mine_

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><p><em><strong>Glass Slippers<strong>_

_**They don't make glass slippers pretty as they seem; trouble is glass slippers shatter like a dream.**_

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><p>John walked in the room with a defeated air, yet he did not feel all that bad. Sherlock sat on the couch torturing the violin.<p>

"It's over" –John stated, while pausing for a reaction that never came. The plink of a violin cord was the only sound that follow. –"Not that you care obviously."

"I thought you ended last night." – His indifferent tone was what bothered John the most; for once, he needed Sherlock the friend, not the detective.

"Nope! She ended it Sherlock! I told you that before. But apparently you were not listening to me… As always." –The sound of a slamming door followed John.

"She also said I was a lucky man." Sherlock got up slowly and headed to his room. He felt on his bed still wearing his rope. Was he really a lucky man? Didn't think so.

John woke up the next morning to find his present on top of the table. It was a tablet engraved with his name. He almost ran to Sherlock's room only to find it empty. It was odd that Sherlock would leave so early in the morning, but again this was Sherlock Holmes and unpredictable was his middle name.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> _Thank you for reading_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: As always not, mine…

_**The Waiting Game**_

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><p>He woke up way before his alarm went on, the silence overwhelm him and without even noticing he started humming the last song he had listen in the radio on his way home. The nightmares had come back, only this time they were not about the war, but of Sherlock. Him wounded, crying, pleading for help, dying... The cold floor at his feet woke him up and his trained ears register a noise in the living room window, for some reason his heart skip a beat, and as every morning he threw his hopes on to the floor and walked in to the bathroom.<p>

He had manage to star a routine, his doctor had said it would help, but he was not sure. Maybe he should take Mycroft's advice and dump her, wake up, take a shower, eat something, go to work, come back, eat something, try to sleep. He had met with Mycroft and more than one occasion and he is pretty sure that the cameras have not left the flat and follow him around the streets. In a way he is glad for it. If he falls o the street at least there will be someone watching for it.

Judging by the hour Miss. Hudson was not up lost had hit her hard too, almost every night she would wait for John to come back to have dinner or just coffee and then will both catch each other staring utterly at the door waiting for Sherlock to make a grand entrance. They will not say anything or hold it against each other, they will just sip their tea, and then softly Miss Hudson would give him a warm kiss on his forehead and leave for bed. John would stay for few more minutes staring at the chair as if by magic the violin in front of him will star playing itself, only to go to bed and wait for morning to come so he can wake up by the feeling of the cold floor at his feet...

_Déjame reposar,_  
><em>aflojar los músculos del corazón<em>  
><em>y poner a dormitar el alma<em>  
><em>para poder hablar,<em>  
><em>para poder recordar estos días,<em>  
><em>los más largos del tiempo.<em>

_Convalecemos de la angustia apenas_  
><em>y estamos débiles, asustadizos,<em>  
><em>Necesitamos despertar para estar más despiertos<em>  
><em>en esta pesadilla llena de gentes y de ruidos…<em>

**Jaime Sabines**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Not mine

_**Caring is not an Advantage…**_

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><p><em><strong>The promises we made were not enough<strong>_

_**(Never play the game again)**_

_**The prayers that we have prayed were like a drug**_

_**(Never gonna hit the air)**_

_**The secrets that we sold were never known**_

_**(Never sing a song for you)**_

_**The love we had, the love we had, we had to let it go.**_

_**(Never giving in again, never giving in again)**_

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><p>"How are you buddy? How long has it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you." - The words came out of his mouth and they felt like daggers to Sherlock, as if he was the only person in the world that knew that Sherlock Holmes existed. Sebastian had not change since Uni same bad choice of clothing line, same haircut, same arrogance. As soon as he had enter the room he started to judge Sherlock, as if he had expected, he to run in to his arms likes an old friend.<p>

They had never been friends, acquaintances maybe, partners on a chemistry project; and then one crazy-stupid night they had gotten high together, by the look of it, Sebastian had not master his drugs yet and started babbling about colors and sounds, and how Sherlock's eyes were so mysterious and deep. Morning came and a startled Sebastian woke on Sherlock's bed, the other was already dress and waiting for a reaction by the side of the bed. Sebastian wanted reasurment that nothing had happen, but the truth was as obvious as the hickey on Sherlock's chest. He left the room almost running. At class, one of Sebastian's friends had asked him the daily question: _Who had gotten laid over the weekend?_ Meanwhile, Sebastian had turned red and looked away, the other tough he had finally got in to the Dean's daughter bed and began to congratulate him. For the first time Sherlock had not said a word, simply shrug his shoulders and sat down. After that, Sebastian not only avoided all interaction with him but also began to call him freak in front of everybody. This did not necessary bother Sherlock since human interaction had just been another experiment from his part.

"This is my friend John Watson"- He did not meant to brag, but the opportunity presented itself. He had to prove to Sebastian that he was human enough to have someone by his side. Only to get kicked on the stomach by John correcting him, and saying he was only but a colleague. The game change against Sherlock once more, his eyes went to the floor, the failure that Sebastian had been would be nothing compared with the letdown of John not wanting to be his friend, and no amount of drug would be enough to pick him up this time.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: As always not, mine…

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><p><strong>Te Para Tres<strong>

_Las tazas sobre el mantel_

_La lluvia derramada_

_Un poco de miel, un poco de miel._

_No basta..._

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><p>The manor stood quiet, the only sounds coming from it were the footsteps of the maids and the rain outside. Young master Sherlock sat by the window on his room he could not understand why the sudden fuss, and more important why was he not allow to leave his room and go play outside. Suddenly only the sound of the rain remained and his forehead was beginning to go numb by being stuck to the window. His brother Mycroft entered the room, clearing his throat to gain his attention.<p>

"Sherlock, you would catch your dead sitting there." - Sherlock turned and gave him a long look only to ignore his comment and turn his gaze back to the window. –"Mummy wants to talk to you." – He paused and waited for Sherlock to stand up. –"Now Sherlock, you be a good boy and don't' be impertinent Mummy is no condition to handle you right now."

"Why was the doctor here?" –He waited while Mycroft fixed his impossible hair.

"If you must know early this morning Mummy has received a letter from the army. A dreadful thing has happen and father would not be coming back… - he paused long enough to gain eye contact with Sherlock- "Father has died on the field. Do you understand that?" –Sherlock simply nod the concept of dead was not alien to him. –"Now hurry up and go to mother, and please do not cry, we ought to be strong for Mummy."

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><p><em>El eclipse no fue parcial<em>

_Y cegó nuestras miradas_

_Te vi que llorabas, te vi que llorabas_

_Por el__…_

He woke in the morgue, Molly was by his side checking him for concussions and applying an IV. His first thoughts were for John and the pain he was causing him. It had to be done john was a liability and if something happened to him because of Sherlock he will be not be able to leave with himself. He sat up, pushing gently aside Molly's administrations, her eyes were red, and she looked pale as if for a second she had doubted him. Mycroft entered the room and after clearing his throat as a sing for Molly to leave, he checked Sherlock himself.

"I am sorry I did not know if would get this far, I thought maybe, I would be able to stop it before this…"- He looked tired his clothes were the same he had been wearing the day before.

"Are they alright?" - The bitterness on Sherlock's tone was not missed. Of course, he would be worry, after the shock of his death only thing that worries Sherlock at that moment was "If his friends were fine."

"I just came from Baker St. In shock, but fine. Sherlock…" –The hurt on his brother eyes was beyond words, if he were to be a Holmes he would have hug him in a minute. –"They would be alright; I promise I have elevated the security, plus we are close to break Moriarty's web. When are you telling them?"

"When is right, I cannot just dance my way in and tell them everything is good... Is too dangerous." –Sherlock got off the table and began to put the clothes Molly had laid on the side. –"Have you arranged the funeral?"

"It will be hold tomorrow; your grave would be two steps down fathers. I suggest you don't attend, but knowing you I know I am speaking to the wind." –Sherlock did not retort anything back simply walked out of the room.

Sherlock sat by the window, his forehead plaster against the cold glass. Against all Mycroft's judgment, he had gone to stalked John and Miss Hudson. He had to be sure they were fine and what he saw not only had broken his heart but him feel so guilty. John stood there crying in front of a grave, that was not his. Poor guy look thin, tired, overwhelm with guiltiness. The rain had begging to pour, that soft soppy rain making people sad and cold. He wished he could get out, go to Baker St. and hug John, even if the guy would punch him on the face he would take, he deserved it. He deserved John being mad at him. He did not deserved John feeling guilty for something he could not control. A few more months Mycroft had said this morning, a few more months a he could go and take that punch.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** As always not mine.

**Liar (it takes one to know one)**

_I am an addict for dramatics,_

_I confuse the two for love... (TBS)_

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><p>"Study in Pink? Do you read his blog?" – He asked with disbelief.<p>

"Of course I read his blog, we all do it… Do you really, not know the earth goes around the sun?" –Lestrade asked which gain him a warning look form John and a foul snickering from Donovan. John lowered his gaze in a small attempt to stop what was coming.

"It isn't the same phone. This one is brand new." –Sherlock continued ignoring the rest, to everyone his ego was trying his best to keep it together,–"Someone is gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the old one. Which means YOUR BLOG has a far wider readership." –John turned his face away at the change on his voice. The phone beeped announcing an incoming message.

The ride to Baker Street was more than uncomfortable; Lestrade had tried small chat, commenting about the weather, at no avail, John had a massive guilt chip on his back, his head was down, stealing looks at Sherlock, but not saying anything. Sherlock had kept to himself, which was weird since knowing Sherlock once founding a lead he would not shut up about it. However, John knew better, he had too. His day was going from bad to awful, the shoes were not giving any clues, on his anger he had managed to convince John that he had no feelings whatsoever, that the only important thing on his life was the puzzle in front of him, and on top of that managed to make Molly cry.

"Started young didn't you?" the words kept echoing on his headlong after they had been said, suddenly becoming the elephant in the room, did he really feel that way? Was he nothing more than a freak to John Watson too? He notice the hesitation on John movements around him once in the flat, the guilty written all over his face, yes he was still mad at Sherlock for not responding as any common human being would. It was indeed true; there was no need for him to feel bad for the woman instead of trying his best to save her. Yes, there were lives at play but what good was to follow clues that lead nowhere. His ego had been hurt, yes but never mind that, once more John Watson had fail to see what he saw, and this was the great disappointment.

"Can I help? I want to help. There is only five hours left." –The sorrow on his voice spoke volumes, yet he will never apologize and neither will Sherlock. Mycroft sent another message and Sherlock decide to send the distraction away; maybe it would do them both good. I a second he had realized how right Mycroft was and he hate it; there will be no other to understand him like his brother, to outsiders it was just silly, or a freak.

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><p><strong>Authors Note:<strong> _Hoped you enjoyed._


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:**_Not mine as always_

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><p><strong>Love<strong>

_I had to stay in your planet,_

_It was for only for a while, and it was never my plan,_

_But my ship was damaged_

_And now I am lost here…_

_With three sun mornings,_

_And multiple visions, transparent mountains,_

_Light Anemones, love particles,_

_And memories of you… (Zoë)_

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><p>It had become a habit by now, in the eyes of other a bad one, and yet there he stood his back leaned against the doorframe watching. On the first days of their living together he had began to asset what was consider a bad night. He had notice then, the easy and lazy the day had gone the most possibility of a bad night. When there was a case involved, the sleep crushed was to overwhelming to allow any other possibility than sleep. So o those days when Sherlock will shoot the wall for being bore, yell at Mrs. Hudson for almost anything, or engrossed himself in front of a ridiculous experiment, he would also guard the door of John Watson at night.<p>

The day will go as follow; john would get home and yell at Sherlock for not doing something like the shop, watch a little telly, and ignored him. After ten, he would announce going to bed to a silent Sherlock, saying he had a job in a reproachful tone. By two in the morning, Sherlock would be waiting by the door, a small moan, a little trashing on the sheets, a nightmare. At first Sherlock would clear his throat, and they would stop, but by now a soft "John" was no longer useful.

His theory had proven right until John started dating, he sometimes won't come home at night but rather sleep over at the house of the new girl, and that is when the data went out of the window, but still there where intervals between girls and then John, although unknowing, needed Sherlock to save him, and Sherlock would be there.

John woke up, not startle besides of the dream he could still remember vividly, his respiration was high and cold sweat made him shiver. Then he heard what had waked him up, soft violin playing. Sherlock was awake, thinking, bored, torturing the poor violin, and now he was awake too. Had not told him he had surgery the next day and needed to sleep? However, the bloody bastard did not care, obviously. He got up, and walked in to the living room, was he that mad, or actually glad of the poor bedside manner of his roommate.

"Do you know what time is it?" –Sherlock did not answer but instead motioned to the wall clock with his bow. –"Do you even care that I have surgery tomorrow? This is pointless… You cannot ruin other peoples sleep just because you are bored…" –Sherlock raised an eyebrow as only acknowledge.-"I am gonna go back to bed, and you are gonna stop playing, do something else read perhaps. Good night. Again."

"Good night, indeed" –muttered Sherlock lowering his violin, while watching John takes the stairs. He stood there in silence long after the door was closed, waiting; after a while he marched in to his on bedroom, with a smile smirk over his face. Some people need saving, others don't, and other don't realized it or are on denial; according to the data gather on John Watson, could go either way, just when he was about to accept something as a fact John would do something unexpected and probe the data useless. He lay in bed thinking how long would take for his theories on John Watson to take form, when would he finish taking a part the puzzle that was John Watson.

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><p><strong>Authors Note:<strong> _Note thanks for reading__._


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